


Learn To Live For This

by prouvairablehulk



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 19:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12092202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairablehulk/pseuds/prouvairablehulk
Summary: "Behind him, someone chokes, and the whispers start. Damn right, James Flint is going to be as gay as he can manage, and he’s going to do it in fucking style. Because fuck Alfred Hamilton, that’s why."In which James Flint gets recruited to a quiz bowl team, says 'fuck you' to a lot of republicans, ends up with two boyfriends, and sprouts a friend group because he's gay and has a car





	Learn To Live For This

"I hear that's why your generation can't afford houses."

James Flint looks up at his foster father and then back down, somewhat uncomprehendingly, at his breakfast. Hennessy has put his briefcase on the table, re-tied his tie, and poured a thermos of coffee before James' brain has connected the dots between the seemingly innocuous statement and the food and coffee in front of him. He’d actually bothered to think about his breakfast today, as opposed to just throwing some cereal in a bowl - first days always deserve something special. When he does finally manage to put it together, his forehead creases in a scowl.

"Oh, yes, very funny." he says, taking another mouthful of coffee. Honestly, since when did he have to deal with his father making jokes before noon?

Hennessy grins. He's in high spirits, which means that he definitely likes his new position - not what James was hoping for, not while Thomas was still a Whitehall Bulldog and James was decidedly not. That was the downside of being effectively expelled for - how had Alfred put it? - “corrupting the future of the nation”. The avocado toast he's eating doesn't give him the satisfaction of making a decisive crunch when he bites it. 

"James," Hennessy starts, and James already knows what's coming. 

"Make a good impression. I got it." 

The one upside of this whole scenario is that James and his father have different surnames. If he had to deal not only with being the new kid, but also being obviously the son of the new principal, his day could get a whole lot worse.

"I'd appreciate it." says Hennessy. He kisses the top of James' head on his way around the table to the door. 

James eyes the fleece-lined denim jacket in the coat cupboard, and smirks. 

You can't be friends with Thomas Hamilton, oldest son and heir to a political dynasty almost on par with the Kennedys, for as long as James has and not know how to make an entrance. The car - a vintage convertible - makes its own statement. The music James is blasting - Boys -makes its own. Between those and the jacket, the messy bun of auburn hair, and the smirk he knows is plastered on his lips, there's a clear persona he's set out. It's probably not what his father meant by making a good impression, but "asshole hipster Queer" was exactly the impression James wanted to give off.

"Who is that?" hisses one of the girls leaning against the car next to where James is parking. James pushes up his sunglasses and winks at her before he gets out of the car, hopping over the door without opening it, drawing a giggle from her friends. There's enough people gathered around that it's a good enough stage for James. He needs to make a statement if he wants to be left mostly alone, and now seems as good a time as any. 

"I'm Idelle." she starts, smoothing her hands over her perfectly straight hair so it falls over the shoulder of her cheer uniform. She’s perfect - pretty and collected and a fucking cheerleader. 

"And I'm not interested." says James. He makes a point of peering around her at the six foot something Adonis behind her. "But what's his name?" 

Behind him, someone chokes, and the whispers start. Damn right, James Flint is going to be as gay as he can manage, and he’s going to do it in fucking style. Because fuck Alfred Hamilton, that’s why. 

"What's your name?" asks Idelle, a little smirk appearing on her lips. 

"James. James Flint." 

He keeps his eyes trained on the guy behind her, and raises an eyebrow. The guy shuffles a bit, plainly flustered by the attention, and James gets to watch the muscles in his torso shift as he does. 

"Billy." says Actually Unfair Abs, at length. 

"Lovely to make your acquaintance, Billy." James says, beaming. 

Billy sighs and casts his eyes skyward.

"Max, please make sure he never meets your brother." 

The girl to whom he's speaking is stunningly beautiful, and she's got a knapsack backpack where the top flap is painted over with the lesbian pride flag. James likes her immediately. 

"I make no such promises." she says. "Not when this one can be of so much use." 

Okay, now that? That, James does not like the sound of. 

“Use for what?” asks James, with a scepticism borne of Thomas and Miranda volun-telling him to do things for the last five years. 

Max picks up her backpack and loops her arm through James’. 

“Let me tell you a story about an Academic Bowl host named Sanchez.” she says, leaning her head in towards his, conspiratorial.

James stops dead. 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

***

John Silver feels like he’s been running all his life. 

 

Well, that’s hyperbole. John’s probably been running for the last twenty minutes, tops, it’s just that this is a private school and he’s trying to make it out of their rabbit warren of manicured grounds without being seen, and he’s not exactly the greatest at cardio, what with the prosthetic leg and all. 

It’s Max’s fault. 

Max and her fucking determination to put “Urca de Lima Academic Bowl Winner” on her Common App in a year. John loves his foster sister dearly, don’t get him wrong, but he should have known better. Max doesn’t sidle up to him and say things like ‘I bet you can’t steal something from Whitehall Academy’ without an ulterior motive. In this case, the ulterior motive is in the binder currently tucked under John’s arm - the binder that contains the Whitehall Academy study guide for the quiz. 

Really, all Max’s fault. He’s going to lay into her good proper about it when he sees her. What the hell was she thinking, asking him to steal it? They were plenty good enough on their own, they didn’t need a rich boy cheat guide. 

He hisses as much to Max over their coffee and cereal the next morning, and Max rolls her eyes. It’s 6:15 am and the wings on her eyeliner are perfect - if John didn’t know what she looked like at 11am on a Saturday with racoon eyes in a too-big football jersey he might actually be terrified of her. 

“We don’t need it to study from, necessarily. We just need it so they don’t have it.” she says, and then glances down at her phone as it chimes. “That’s my ride. Catch you at school.” 

She glides out the door, backpack already settled over her shoulder, cheer skirt bouncing. John sighs, and reaches out to pick up his own phone and find out where the hell his ride was, if Idelle was already outside for Max. 

John’s been sitting on the stoop of his house in the mostly-predawn light for a good ten minutes when Charles Vane pulls up in his beaten-up red pickup. 

“So sorry we’re late.” Jack calls, from the passenger side window in the tiny, cramped, back row of seats. John tunes out Jack’s ramblings about what delayed them and climbs up into the front seat next to Charles, who looks as unfairly ruggedly handsome as ever. John honestly has no idea how he manages to pull off that particular look while wearing a fucking varsity letter jacket. He’s settled in and put on his seatbelt before he realizes that Jack’s still talking, and Charles is looking at John expectantly. John grins, and twitches his fingers like a conductor for Charles and Anne, who’s squished in next to Jack in such a way that the floral snapback she’s wearing is flattened against the window. 

“Fuck you, Jack.” they all chorus, and Jack splutters indignantly while Charles pulls them out into the traffic. 

They squeak in just before the first warning bell, as per usual. Charles slinks off to do whatever it is he does in his crowd of football players (which is, John suspects, avoiding having to talk to Eleanor Guthrie), and leaves Jack and John and Anne to rush to their lockers and grab their things before first period AP Gov - John and Jack aren’t that far from each other, but Anne is on the opposite side of the fucking school, thanks to alphabetical locker assignments. She heads down the corridor away from them and Max falls into step, taking her place. 

“There’s a new kid.” she tells them. “And we’re going to be friends with him.”

“Why?” says John, mostly to be contrary. 

“Because he’s gay and he has a really nice car.” says Madi, sidling in to walk between Jack and John. Jack makes a mildly offended noise as he gets bumped to one side, but lets it happen. “And Max wants him on the Urca team.” 

“No.” says John. 

“He transferred from Whitehall.” says Max. “And he really wants to piss them off. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone sound so dedicated to telling the rich boys to go fuck themselves.” 

Jack sniggers, and they arrive at their classroom.

“Alright,” says Madi, “bets.” 

John looks up at the corner of a non-functioning florescent light and thinks. It’s a tradition of theirs, in any class that involves a discussion of politics. What rather aggressively conservative viewpoint will get mentioned first?

“We don’t need welfare because poor people can just get a job.” says Jack. 

“Black Lives Matter is at fault for any and all violence at protests.” says Madi. 

“Abortion rights.” says Max. 

“Immigration should be suspended if you’re not a white christian.” says Charles, brushing past them into the room. 

“Vaccines cause autism.” says John, and Madi nods decisively. 

“Alright, let’s do this.” she says, and they head in to find their seats. 

Five minutes later, John is scribbling a note to Madi on the corner of the calendar of due dates they’ve been given, which will be useless in a week. 

‘Is this a record?’ he writes. ‘Under five minutes and the teacher brought it up.’ 

“Fucking Charles Vane.” Madi hisses under her breath. John looks over at his best friend with a bright, delighted grin - and then is promptly distracted by the guy sitting behind her shoulder. 

He’s gorgeous. Holy fuck, he’s stepped right out of one of John’s fantasies. The denim jacket, with it’s fleece-lined turned-out collar, only serves to make his shoulders look even broader than they must be, and his red hair is piled into a messy bun at the nape of his neck. There are freckles scattered over every inch of his skin that is visible, and his eyes are the greenest green John has ever seen. He’s a beat poet come to life, only missing the cigarette that should be falling off his plush lower lip, and John might be a little bit in love. 

He’s also an asshole, apparently, if the fucking brutal battle he and John are having on this Kahoot quiz in anything to go by. Madi, while probably better at such things than John, has little taste for it and doesn’t try particularly hard, thereby leaving John to fucking dominate. Well, he usually dominates. James fucking goddamn Flint is attempting to wrest that role from John, and John will not stand for it. Madi and Max get the giggles as John and Flint get progressively more aggressive about their competition, for reasons John doesn’t really want to contemplate, and instead John focuses on the questions and on beating Flint. 

He wins, by the tiniest of margins and right on the bell for the end of class, and feels a little bit breathless about it. Flint gathers up his things and saunters to the door, only to turn back and wink at John. It’s not a ‘get you next time’ wink. It’s not a ‘watch your back’ wink. It’s not even a ‘fuck you, public school pleb’ wink, which seemed to go hand in hand with the kind of trust fund you needed to go to Whitehall. No, it’s a fucking ‘meet me in the bathroom and I can show you a good time but also fuck you and the horse you rode in on’ type wink, disarming and charming, and John wants to bang his head on the desk repeatedly and climb into one of the decontamination showers in the science rooms. 

Fucking James goddamn fucking Flint. 

“Have I mentioned he’s the one I want to recruit to the team?” says Max, as John is staring despairingly at the doorframe where Flint had been standing. 

John turns that same despairing look on his sister instead, and she laughs at him.


End file.
